


Show Me Where It Hurts

by loudmindsquietpeople



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Baz is so stubborn, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Happy Ending, I promise, M/M, Simon needs answers, There will be fluff, based on an excerpt from the book, mention of Simon not eating or sleeping, they're in love, why don't they just talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudmindsquietpeople/pseuds/loudmindsquietpeople
Summary: *I just want to run him down and knock him over and figure it all out. What’s wrong with him? Where’s he been?*





	1. Okay

**Author's Note:**

> I have wanted to write this for so long, but it just never came out until I was listening to the audio book again, and I just had to get this out of my system, because I think of this same scenario every. freakin'. time. I read/hear this part. Please let me know what you think. I'd love to hear if any of you felt this way about that part, too?
> 
> P.S. I'm so sorry this is such a mess.

** Simon **

            Baz is back. Baz is back. _Baz is back_.

            He’s back, but he’s… wrong, somehow. He seems even paler and greyer than usual, his movements slower and sort of stiff. His mouth is pinched, too, like someone who’s in pain but trying not to show it. And his eyes. It’s like all the light (what little there was of it before) has been sucked out of them, leaving them flat and dead. Well, dead-er.

            What happened to him? What’s wrong with him? Where has he been? I want answers. I _need_ answers; and by Merlin, after everything I’ve been through, I’m going to have them, even if that means taking drastic measures.  

            I wait in our room for Baz to come back. I miss dinner, but I know I won’t really be able to eat or study or even think until I’ve seen him up close for myself. He doesn’t come back to eat or do homework. He misses curfew, too, but I don’t give up. I turn off the light so he doesn’t see it through the crack at the bottom of the door and run back off to the catacombs or the ramparts or wherever else he goes when he doesn’t want to be here.

            It’s after midnight when I finally hear Baz’s footsteps coming up the stairs to our room. I sneak over to stand next to the wall so that I’ll be behind the door and out of sight when he enters. It creaks open, and Baz takes a couple of steps in.

            That’s when I tackle him.

** Baz **

            I barely have time to register the fact that Simon’s bed is empty before we’re both on the floor, him on top, straddling my waist and pinning my wrists. I start to struggle instinctively, but I’m still too weak to break his hold. Then another thought blasts through my brain like a bullet, and I freeze in horror.

            “Anathema,” I whisper, and then I screw my eyes shut and wait for Simon to be torn away from Watford (and from me) forever. I wait, but nothing happens, and then the dread is replaced with confusion. It’s been at least two minutes by now, but Simon is still on top of me. I open my eyes to find him staring intensely at my face, my chest, my hands.  “Why aren’t you being thrown out of Watford right now?”

            Simon just shrugs, finally meeting my eyes, and I feel the familiar jolt of desire and hopelessness that the sight of him has inspired in me every day since fifth year. “I’m not hurting you. I don’t _want_ to hurt you.”

            “Why exactly _did_ you tackle me then, Snow?” I ask. I’m trying to sound arrogant and careless, but now that the shock has worn off, my body has suddenly become blisteringly aware that Simon Snow is on top of me, _straddling me_ , with no violent intentions whatsoever.

            _He’s too thin_ , I think, worry cutting in to cool some of the want. Snow’s body weight barely registers where he’s sat on me, and if I wasn’t half-starved myself, I’d be able to brush him aside like a kitten. He still _looks_ starved, wasted like he is after every summer he spends stuck in the Normal care system. But he _shouldn’t_ be. He’s been at Watford for eight weeks already. He should be strong and healthy. He usually gains all his weight back within the first three weeks of term. Why does he still look like he’s spent his summer holiday in a concentration camp?

            “What’s this about, Snow?” I ask again, when he fails to answer me. He’s got both my wrists captured in only one of his hands now, and the other is busy tugging at my school tie. _Is he_ undressing _me?_ I’m panicking now, trying like hell to keep my body from giving my feelings away. 

            “It’s nothing,” he says, but he doesn’t move off of me. He’s got my tie off now, and he’s working to undo the top button of my shirt.

            “ _Snow_ ,” I say, and my voice is starting to sound breathless. If things keep going like this, I’m going to lose control. I need to put a stop to this debacle. _Now_. “Stop taking my clothes off. Is this some twisted new form of psychological torture? Or is this your subtle way of asking for a fuck?” I hope the insinuation will at least make him pause so that I’ll have a moment to collect myself.

            His hand does stop, but only for a second. He meets my eyes, and for a moment he looks uncertain, but then he sets his jaw stubbornly. “I’m _not_ trying to seduce you. I just… I need to look at you for a bit. Please.” And then his fingers are back at my shirt, working loose the next three buttons while I’m still frozen in shock.

            Simon Snow is asking to undress me. He said _please_.

            Half of me is thrilled, roaring in satisfaction. _Snow is ripping my clothes off! Finally!_ The other half of me is panicking, because if he scoots any lower on my waist, there’s no way he won’t notice exactly how I feel about it. I shift and try to scoot lower, to delay the disaster, but Snow’s grip on me tightens and he growls a bit, and I know I can’t do anything but wait for the inevitable moment when he realizes exactly how I want him and breaks my heart forever.

** Simon **

            I’ve got Baz where I want him, _finally_ , and I’ll be damned if I’m letting him wiggle out of it. I don’t care if he’s angry. I don’t care if he hates me. I just need to see him. I need to feel him. I need to make sure he’s alright. He looks so thin and tired. Sick. What if he got hurt doing whatever he was doing before he got to school? What if he’s still hurt?

            He looks hurt. He’s looked like he’s been in pain since the moment he burst into the Great Hall.

            “Stop pulling.” I growl, as he tugs weakly against my grip again. “I need to check you for wounds.”

            “I don’t have any wounds,” Baz snarls back. “And it’s none of your _fucking_ business.” The words sting, because I know they’re supposed to be true. They should be. I shouldn’t care whether or not Baz is sick or hurt or sad. But I do. I do care. So I keep working away at the buttons on his shirt, and he twists his abdomen fiercely, trying to shake me off. I refuse to budge.

            “Baz, _please_. I need this. I know you hate me. I know you want me dead. Hell, that’s probably what you’ve been thinking about the whole time you were away. But I need to know you’re not hurt. I need to see you and feel you for myself. Without it, I can’t do anything! I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’ve been roaming the school like a madman the entire time you’ve been gone, searching for you. Where were you? What happened to you to keep you away? I’ve been going insane because I didn’t have any answers. What if you were hurt? Or kidnapped? Or _dead_? I just need to make sure you’re here and alright, and that you’re not going to disappear again.” My vision is blurring, and I know there are tears in my eyes. I try to pretend they’re all from anger or frustration, but I can’t fool myself. I press my forehead against Baz’s and close my eyes. My breath hitches on a little sob.

            Baz goes still under me, and his voice is just a whisper as he asks, “Are you _crying_?”

** Baz **

            Simon Snow is _crying_. Over _me_.

** Simon **

            “Hey,” Baz murmurs, and his voice is softer. Not soft like Penny’s gets when I talk about being in care, but like he’s trying to be gentle and doesn’t know how. I still can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, so I press my face against his neck and catch his scent. Bergamot. I haven’t gotten to smell it since last term, and suddenly I’m starving for it. I take another deep lungful without raising my head. “Hey,” he says again, and he’s turning his head so that his face is buried in my hair and his lips accidentally brush the sensitive patch of skin behind my ear and my heart is beating faster but I don’t know why.

            “Please, Baz,” I whisper against the skin of his neck, and he shivers under me. “Please, I need this.”

            I lift my head to look at him, and I know I’m weak and he probably thinks I’m disgusting for it, but I don’t care. I’ll beg if I have to. But Baz doesn’t _look_ disgusted. He looks kind of crazed, maybe a bit desperate, but not angry. Not repulsed. And he doesn’t break eye contact as he answers me.  

            “Okay.”


	2. Show Me Yours, Show You Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are mine now, Simon fucking Snow.

** Baz **

            _Okay?_ What the fuck was I thinking telling Simon fucking Snow that it was okay to take my clothes off?

            I lay there under him, shellshocked by my own absolute stupidity, as Snow undid the rest of my shirt buttons. Before I even had time to process the fact that he was, in fact, stripping me, he had the fabric pushed aside, revealing my chest. I knew it wasn’t a pretty sight, even before I saw him wince. The numpties hadn’t exactly provided me with five-star hospitality while they kept me locked in that godforsaken coffin under Blackfriar’s Bridge. I knew I was still wasted from the hunger and cold and dark of it.

            Snow somehow seemed even more upset by it than I had been the first day I’d gone to shower after getting back. I had startled when something pale and skeletal had shown up in my periphery on my way into the tub, only to realize with horror that the wraithlike thing in the mirror was _me_. My muscles were usually lean, but they still gave me a look of vitality. After the coffin, though, they had wasted away, leaving nothing but bones and sickly pale skin in their place. I had managed to hold back the tears when I saw myself that day, but I hadn’t been able to stop the panic attack.

            Snow didn’t hold back anything while he studied me, still thin and pale beneath him. The tears streaked down his cheeks and he didn’t even pretend to try to wipe them away, just let them run. His reaction was even more startling because I had come a long way back from where I’d been that horrid first afternoon. I at least looked half-alive, even if I wasn’t back up to my usual snuff. After everything I’d been through, I didn’t know if I _would_ ever come completely back from it.

            The horror in his eyes was good for one thing, though. It helped cool the desire that him undressing me had got started. Now I just felt vulnerable and exposed, two things I absolutely despised. Which could mean only one thing of course.

            “Stop gawking at me like a moron and get on with it, Snow,” I spat, lacing every ounce of derision I could muster into my tone. He must have forgotten what he had been doing for a moment, because he actually startled, the idiot. But then he redoubled his efforts, tugging my shirt completely off of me and tossing it somewhere in the general direction of our beds. Then he started touching me, and I froze.

            Snow’s hands were blazing hot (what a ridiculous oxymoron) as he ran them from my wrists down my forearms, over my biceps. He skated them over my shoulders and across my chest, and I barely managed to suppress the shiver that tried to roll through me when his calloused fingertips grazed my nipples. He lingered over my ribs for so long that I swear he must have been counting them, before moving down my stomach to trace the lines of my pelvic bones.

            “You’re so thin,” he whispered, tracing the lines that you shouldn’t be able to see on a person who regularly has access to food and medical care. I sighed at the horrified look on his face. It was so pale that his freckles stood out like cinnamon on parchment.

            “You’re not exactly looking like the peak of health and wellness yourself, Snow,” I replied, eyeing the way his uniform hung off his frame, the deep purple crescents under his eyes. “Since I showed you mine, it’s only fair that you show me yours. What do you say, Snow? Strip for me?”

 

** Simon **

            I know Baz is probably just taking the piss, trying to get under my skin. He probably doesn’t care that I look like I haven’t eaten or slept in over a month (because I haven’t), but what he says is true, so I shrug and pull my shirt off over my head anyway.

            Baz stiffens beneath me, and I must be hallucinating, because I could have sworn I heard him growl when he saw my ribs pressing against the skin of my torso like they’re trying to force their way out. I’m shorter and stockier than him, so when I lose weight, I know I start to look one of the zombies from the dark magic section of our textbooks. I’m not built to be thin, and it looks wrong on me. Baz looks like he’s actually been punched when he sees it.

            All of a sudden, I find myself on the floor beneath Baz, and he’s yelling at me to know _why the fuck haven’t you eaten_ and _where the hell was the fucking Mage to let you get so thin_? And he looks so fucking outraged and his face is starting to go pink and he just looks so right hovering there above me that before I know what’s happening, I’m kissing him. And then he’s growling and kissing me back and it’s a battle just like every other fucking thing we’ve ever done together, but I think I like this one because we’re fighting _for_ each other and not against each other and it’s just such a fucking relief to finally have him right here, under my hands, where I don’t have to wonder where he is or what he’s doing, because I know what he’s doing is snogging _me_.  

            And _Crowley_ , but he’s doing it well. It never felt this good with Agatha. And then I’m thinking that maybe that’s because I never wanted it this much with Agatha, but I let that thought go for the moment, because that might be saying something about me that I’m not ready to think about yet, so instead I just enjoy lying on the floor, getting kissed by Baz.

           

** Baz **

            I don’t know how long I’ve been kissing Snow. I don’t care, either. I’m going to keep lying here kissing him until he either magically bulks back up or we both die of starvation. Either way, I’m never letting him out of my sight again. If he can’t take care of himself, then I’m damned well going to do it for him. _You are mine now, Simon fucking Snow_.


	3. Not Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to write. It was so hard! I wrote in and re-wrote it so many times, but it finally came together (sort of?), so here it is. Hope you like it.

** Simon: **

            Baz’s kisses taste like smoke and magic, and I can’t seem to get enough of him in my mouth. It’s still a battle, but the goal is for both of us to win, to see how good we can make it for each other. I think I’m winning, though, because every time I press my tongue into his mouth, Baz makes this happy sound in the back of his throat and tightens his grip on me just a little more. I’m almost dizzy from it when I sweep my hands down his sides, and freeze.

 

            I had forgotten _why_ Baz was on top of me while we were snogging, but now, with my hands on his icy skin, it all comes rushing back. How thin he is, how sick he looks. And the limp. Why the fuck is he limping?

 

            I break the kiss and pull back just a little when Baz tries to reach for my mouth again.

 

            “Simon?” he asks. He’s breathless, and there’s the faintest trace of pink across his cheeks and lips that wasn’t there before.

 

            “Baz, why did you come back to school so late? And why are you so fucking thin? I can feel every one of your ribs! And what’s wrong with your leg? Why can’t you walk right? Where have you been all term?” The questions are pouring out of me too fast for me to really even realize what I’m saying, but whatever it is must be wrong, because Baz’s defenses are back up before I even finish getting the first one completely out.

 

            “That’s none of your business, Snow,” he snaps, pulling back from me like he’s going to get up and leave. “Just because you kissed me doesn’t mean you’re suddenly entitled to know every little thing I do.”

 

            Yeah, no. Fuck that. He is _not_ leaving me again. I wrap my arms around his neck and drag him back down against me. He struggles for just a second, but then he stills, glaring at me as I press him against my chest. “You called me Simon before,” I say, refusing to drop his gaze.

 

            “No, I didn’t,” he sniffs, and I don’t know why his arrogance makes me so happy, but I’m grinning like an idiot when I press my lips to his again, and I can actually feel him melting against me. He’s such an adorable git.

 

            “What are we doing?” he whispers, when we break the kiss for breath. He sounds vulnerable all of a sudden, and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to roll over him, to wrap him up in me and keep everyone else away so they can’t hurt him anymore. My arms tighten without my permission, but he doesn’t make any move to break my hold.

 

            “I think you were about to tell me why you look like something out of a necromancer’s spellbook,” I say, tangling my legs with his so he can’t get away. I feel something hard pressing against my thigh, but I pretend not to notice.

 

            Baz raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He just presses his lips together and looks away. He doesn’t try to get up this time, though, and something in me warms with happiness. I feel myself relax a little.

 

            “Alright,” I say slowly, drawing it out, giving us both a little time to think. “Why don’t we come back to that later? But I’m not telling you my important news until _you_ tell me why you disappeared for eight weeks.”

 

            Baz’s eyes snap back to mine and I can see the curiosity burning there. “What important news? What happened while I was away?”

 

            “Ah, ah, ah,” I drawl, shaking my head slowly, feigning regret. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything until I know why you’ve been gone. What if you were plotting the whole time and I accidentally give you whatever information you need to carry out your dastardly plans? No can do, Baz.”

 

            His eyebrows crash together in a remarkably threatening scowl and I have to fight hard not to bust out laughing. As it is, a snicker slips out and his eyes narrow even more. “Stop being a moron, Snow, _if you even can_. Tell me what’s happened while I’ve been gone, before I do something we’ll both regret.”

 

            I snort. “Like what? We’re in our _room_. The anathema will kick you out if you try anything here.”

 

            “Well, we can’t stay here forever,” Baz snaps. “Unless you’re planning to hold me hostage, in which case you’d better be ready to face down my aunt. I don’t think she has the patience to deal with _two_ kidnappings in as many months.”

 

            We both freeze as those words register, and I hear a quiet curse slip out under his breath.

 

            “What do you mean ‘two kidnappings,’ Baz? What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

            Baz tries to put on a bored expression, but I feel him tense on top of me, and it’s like he’s trying to shrink in on himself. “That’s why I was late coming back to Watford. I was kidnapped.”

 

            “Kidnapped?! By _who_?!”

 

            He drops his head and presses his face into my shoulder so that I can just barely make out his next words. “By numpties.”

 

            I can’t even process this. “You were late coming back to school because you were _kidnapped._ By _numpties._ And your family didn’t tell anyone.”

 

            “Who were they _supposed_ to tell?” he snaps, his voice furious as he lifts his face to look at me again. “’Oh, yes, Mr. Mage, our son hasn’t come back to school because some unknown person has had him kidnapped and held for ransom.’ Who the fuck do you think _did_ that?”

 

            “Not the Mage,” I protest, leaning up on my elbows and taking Baz up with me.

 

            “Of _course_ it was the bloody Mage! He’s the only one who hates my family enough to take me and hide me away like that! He’s been raiding our house and trying to get our money for months, and when he couldn’t get it by bullying us in the open, he had to find another way to get at us. Of course it was him.”

 

            “It can’t be,” I argued, but even I’m not really convinced that what I’m saying is true. The Mage _would_ kidnap Baz, if he thought there was some good that could be brought from it. But I don’t see why he would do it without telling _me_. Baz is _my_ roommate, my enemy. Why wouldn’t the Mage have wanted me involved if he was trying to keep Baz out of the way?

 

            “You bloody well know it could and probably was,” Baz snarls, pushing against me, starting to struggle against my arms. I tighten my hold a little, tripping over myself to say _something_ to keep him from leaving again.

 

            “Alright, so it might have been the Mage, but I don’t see why he would do that without telling _me_ , when he knows perfectly well that you and I are enemies. And even if he did kidnap you, I don’t think he would have starved you to death. You would have been more valuable to him alive, so why would he let you get so thin?” I’m babbling now, just trying to distract him, but maybe he can see that I _am_ listening, because he stops trying to make me let go of him. We’re both sitting up now, me basically cradling Baz in my lap while we talk about him being fucking _kidnapped_ and starved for eight weeks.

 

            Baz looks down then, and I feel him shaking a little when he replies, his arms tightening around me without him seeming to notice. “I don’t think they _meant_ to starve me. They… they kept me in a coffin, and they would throw in some… _unconventional_ nourishment every few days… I don’t think they realized that they were killing me.”

 

            I feel the horror wash through me like a wave of ice, all sharp edges and unexpected pain. “They kept you locked _in a coffin… With no food... For EIGHT WEEKS?”_ I can hear my voice rising, panic bringing the words to a shout and Baz is fumbling for his wand to cast a silencing charm before we can wake all of Mummer’s House.

 

            “Shhhh, Snow, calm down! I’m fine, alright? I’m here aren’t I?”

 

            “Baz! They kept you locked in a fucking coffin for eight weeks! You could have died! You might have ACTUALLY DIED! And you are telling me to calm down? Are you mad?! How are you even still alive if they didn’t _feed_ you?!”

 

            “They _did_ feed me! Just not… food.” He’s staring hard at the wall behind my head, refusing to meet my eyes, and his meaning comes to me all at once.

 

            “They gave you blood. They kept you locked in a coffin and gave you blood every few days and didn’t even realize you were dying. Bloody _hell_ , Baz!” I’m crying again and crushing him against me, burying my face in his neck, and I don’t think I could stop the sobs coming if I tried. I don’t try.

 

            “Hey, it’s alright,” he’s saying, clearly astonished as he rubs my back with one hand and strokes my hair with the other. “It’s _alright_ , Simon. I’m here, and I’m alright. My Aunt Fiona found me just in time. She got me out and got me home so I could get better. I came back as soon as I could. It’s alright now. I’m back at Watford and everything is back to normal and everything is going to be _fine_.”

 

            I’m calming down now, trying to catch my breath after that first powerful wave of panic rolled through. “You’re still so thin,” I whisper, and I know I must be squeezing him too hard, but he doesn’t complain. Just keeps holding on to me.

 

            “Yes, well, I could say the same about you, and you haven’t even been locked in a coffin. What’s your excuse?”

 

            I take a deep shuddering breath and lean back to look into his face. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it, but first, there’s something you need to know. It’s about your mother.”


End file.
